Kingmaker: The Emerald Expanse
by theundermole
Summary: To some, their dreams of glory and achievement are just that-dreams. To others, their attempts end in nothing but sorrow and failure. But for a rare few, the dreams and goals they have end up taking them on a path unexpected and unplanned for, but end in far more than they could have ever hoped for.


I pressed myself to the ground, willing the loamy earth to swallow me. Discovery at this moment would mean my death, and more importantly, destruction for my people. I turned my head to gaze at my companion, trying to ignore the dozens of heavy, hobnailed boots, and the hulking warriors wearing them, as they marched by. Lefan was young, many summers younger than I, and as naturally skilled in woodcraft as he was, the blood draining from his face and the light tremble in his shoulders betrayed his barely controlled terror. I caught his gaze, and with steady, controlled movements, I silently signaled for him to be still. Then the stench hit us.

A veritable, intangible wave of blood, offal, and rotting flesh hit us, and Lefan seemed to get even paler. He recognized the stench; anyone who had spent any amount of time on the battlefield or as a huntsman would. But, unlike myself, he had never before recognized it in such density. It seemed as though each individual warrior marching past us was steeped in decades of war and death, their experience and love of killing manifesting in a veritable cloud around them. I had seen, and smelt enough. It was time to leave. Catching Lefan's gaze once more, I gestured to him. He silently nodded, and pressed himself carefully, slowly, deeper into the brush. Good, he was learning.

I waited until he had disappeared further away from the columns of marching warriors, and silently counted to sixty. Then I counted again. The warriors were still marching by as I made my withdrawal. My concern grew. I moved swiftly, silently slithering away into the shadows, using my feet to guide myself. Within a few minutes, I had reunited with young Lefan. He was shivering, still pale, and looking close to breaking and running, standing almost fully upright and leaning against a broad tree. I pulled him down to a crouch, our figures broken up by the tree and brush, well hidden by the cover of twilight.

"Lad. Look at me." I spoke quietly, my voice a bare murmur. He flinched at the sudden noise, refusing to meet my gaze. I shook him roughly, and grabbed his chin, forcing him to look me in the eye. I could tell immediately that he was trying to, and failing, not look at the fearsome scar that ran down my face, and at the milky pale orb that was my right eye. Such wounds were a testament to my experience, and a lesson in survival.

"Lad. I said look at me. Lefan, look at me!" I dared to raise my voice, and shook him once more. He finally complied.

"Lord Snowcrow, there were so many. What were they?" He asked. His breath was hot with fear. I pulled the pack from my back, grimly responding.

"The Greenbelt, and much of the Swordlands, is home to many thinking beings. Us, humans, mortal men. Halvin, what we call the halflings or little people, our smaller, less seen cousins. Elves and dwarves, long lived races crafted in the image of their gods. Kobolds, some of our most staunch allies. Gnomes, and orcs, while some of the rarest beings in the region, are still recognizable by most of the smallfolk and peasantry. But, there is still a big world outside of these lands, full of many wonders and terrors. One of these has wandered into our lands, and the intent is not good." As I spoke, I pulled a small travel journal from my pack. Removing a quill and an ink well from a pouch at my hip, I began scrawling into the journal.

"The men, orcs, and other creatures you saw fly under a particular banner. The being they worship demands nothing more than war, conquest, and death in his name. No lad, don't ask me his name. To speak it is to bring misfortune upon us, and we will need all the luck we can muster if we are to survive this night, and the nights to come. They will not march much farther this day, so we must go." I reread what I had wrote, and once I had confirmed it's message, I tore the page from the book. Further tearing the page again, I passed one piece to Lefan.

"Take this lad. The other lords must know what is happening. Take my horse, Thumper will guide you home, and switching mounts will grant you better speed." He took the slip of paper, folding it into his belt.

"What will you do, Lord Marshall?" I grinned. "I will do my duty. I will rally the militias, organize the initial defense, and protect these lands. Now go. See to it Lefan, and ensure our survival." He stood, obviously conflicted in his desires, but still unable to to refuse my orders. He hit his fist to his chest in silent salute, got his bearings, and slipped away into the gloom. I noted that even with the alien sense of fear brought on by threat of death, Lefan still stuck to his training. Good. If he survives this, he will make an excellent ranger.

I whistled into the sky, and a piercing shriek answered my call. I searched the skies, and smiled, raising my arm. Within moments, a large bird of prey, ice grey in plumage, landed on it. I allowed him to nuzzle my hand for a moment, before catching his gaze. A type of intelligence glittered in his eyes.

"Gyrfaalk, I had a request of you. This paper needs to be brought to Lord Huma immediately. Once it is delivered, go to the Battlecrows. I need them in this oncoming storm. Do you understand?" He preened himself, savagely hooked beak running through his plumage, before nipping at my ear. He understood. I quickly tied the note to his leg, and launched him into the air with a command.

"Fly! Fly Gyrfaalk! Fly swift and true my brother!" I watched him spread his wings, and with powerful beats, swiftly disappeared into the sky, flying north. With one of my oldest, and most trusted allies now gone, I followed suit, heading west, deeper into the forest.

* * *

I ran tirelessly for hours, my bow and sword strapped to my back, my small satchel to my waist. Thanks to my experience in traversing these lands, plus the artifacts and blessings I have been fortunate enough to receive, my legs quickly ate up the miles. The moon rose and fell, and still I ran. The sun rose, and had reached it's midday peak, before I reached my destination. By that time, I was breathing hard, and sweat stained my body. I slowed to a steady jog, before eventually coming to a walk, gaining control of my breathing once more. I made my way through a thicket, coming into a small clearing in the dense woods. Sunlight gleamed through the branches overhead in thin shafts, casting the area in shadows. A small fire was being tended to by a slim, cloaked figure, with a brace of fish cooking over it. The aroma of cooking meat filled my nose, and my stomach clenched in hunger. I looked up, and saw Gyrfaalk perched in a tree, tearing a fish apart with his beak and swallowing the chunks down in quick, precise movements.

I walked over to the fire, and the figure tossed me a waterskin. I took a few swigs, and upended the rest over my face, letting the cool water wash away the night's sweat. Squatting down across from the figure, I snatched one of the cooked fish from aside the fire, and began devouring it without ceremony.

"It's bad, ain't it?" the figure asked bluntly, nodding to the east, from where I came. I nodded. "Worse than you think. Invasion. The Dark Conqueror." The figure hissed, making a sign of warding. The figure lowered it's hood, revealing the face of a woman a few summers younger than myself, lined gently with the weight of years. She helped herself to a fish as well, pulling a small wheel of cheese from her pack and cutting a chunk out of it, handing me the rest. I nodded my thanks, and continued eating the fish. The hunk of cheese, tasting smokey and with small bits of nut in it, tasted like food befitting the great banquet halls of the capital, and I washed it down with another gulp of water.

"Thank you Jace. I ran through the night, and you know I pack light when out ranging, so it's been more than a day since I've eaten." She nodded, smiling.

"Of course, Snowcrow. It's been a few years since we've been on patrol together, but I still know your habits." I grinned at that, the motion twisting my scar. Jace, or Jaquelyn, as her true name is, was one of my first recruits. A former scout for one of the minor swordlords far to north, she had never lost her youthful energy or charm, despite the years and troubles that had met her. My unofficial second, it was no wonder that she was the first to make it to the Roost. Over the course of the next hour, the rest of my chosen warriors filtered in.

Gottfried was first. A large wolf prowled into the clearing, sniffing at the air, and was followed by a great, swarthy bear of a man. With a large, long handled ax strapped to his back, and a short bow clutched in his right hand, he scanned the clearing, as alert as his lupine companion. He made his way to the fire, kneeling down. He nodded to me and Jace, and tossed a fish to Bear, his wolf. A silent man, a run in with a nest of fever crazed goblins stole his voice almost a decade and half ago, along with the lives of his wife and brother.

The next to join our party was a near polar opposite to Gottfried. Thundering in astride a large warhorse, whooping loud battle calls in his native tongue, was Kol Tanao. Clad in naught but a pair of leather breeches, his hair cut close on the sides of his head with the top growing long like the mane of his horse, and his body covered in a myriad of tattoos and ritual scarring, the tanned skinned half-elf effortlessly leapt from his mount. The sight of Tanao brought a smile to my face. He was the most free spirited of my men, as like to be playing for the citizenry in the lands north of the Greenbelt as ranging south, chasing the sun and winds.

Heikal and Runaan were next. Heikal was dressed simply in a cream colored tunic and tan pants spun from fine, yet sturdy cloth. Runaan, her companion, was clad in leathers died in dark greys and blues, and a pair of short swords buckled to his hips. They entered side by side, together, as in all things, like they swore to each other years ago. I allowed it, if only because they were stronger together than apart, and because while my chances at love were long gone, the bond that they shared was as secure as the roots of the mightiest oak tree of my forests.

Hrodtgaard followed them in, the dwarf the only of our company. A pair of axes were slung through loops on his belt, a number of small throwing hammers, more better known as dwarven arrows, were strung crosswise across his chest, and a squat, but powerful crossbow strapped to his back. He thumped his fist against his chest, the band of metal bound to his wrist clicking off his breastplate. Hrodtgaard, the Resolute, was like a stone pillar in battle, and the deep lines on his face gave proof to the wisdom of the long centuries he had spent alive. When he was a young beardling, his father fell in battle against one of the orc tribes plaguing their land, so in response, and as custom to his people, Hrodtgaard carried his father's body deep into the marauders' territory and buried him there, so that his spirit could continue the long war. Some day, I fear I may be obligated to do the same for Hrodtgaard, as he had no sons to carry on his name.

The rest filtered in as well. Edelgram, Torfvin, and Ashae all came in together. I assumed as much, last they reported they were investigating rumors of a troll sighting. Trolls can be nasty work if stumbled upon, and best to be tackled in groups, to wear them down outside of melee combat. Jonas appeared as he normally did; climbing down from a tree with a rustle and little warning. Gyrfaalk shifted as he did, a short fluttering of his wings allowing him to change branches. Gyrfaalk did not get along with Jonas' mount. Roland was the last. He stumped in, the ancient greybeard nodding to the rest of the assembled 'crows.

I surveyed them. These men and women, I personally chose all of them to be my trusted agents. Each was capable of felling a dozen warriors in a pair of steady breaths, could track a mouse through field and forest, could appear suddenly before you in an open plain, and most importantly, held unbreakable loyalty to the realm, it's people, and myself, in that order. While I was the commander of the kingdom's militias, and had hundreds of rangers, hunters, and scouts under my command, these few, and several others ranging too far out and away to be contacted in a short enough time, were my most trusted warriors, and the only ones to meet my exacting standards where it counted. And despite their diverse and near unique appearances, they all shared one thing, an article of clothing that brought a small smile to my face. A nondescript dark grey cloak, hooded and hanging down almost to their feet. Its cloth easily absorbed the colors of vegetation it rubs against, and even without the minor magicks enchanting them, it would help the wearer pass through the wilderness almost unseen. The cloaks were rare, and given only to those who earned them in my eye.

I knew that whatever would come, they would mean the difference between success and failure, life and death. I only wish I knew at the time the sacrifices we would have to make in the coming days. I began simply, and with little ceremony.

"Good. We're all here. Tanao, glad you were close enough to hear the summons. Heikal, Runaan, how's your child? Oh, already riding a horse? He'll be a real terror in a few years. Torfvin, get the troll dealt with? Just a hill giant drunk off of apple trees left unpicked? Figured as much, there hasn't been a troll sighting in these parts in the better part of a decade. Anyway, gentlemen, ladies, we're at war. At around this time yesterday, Lefan and myself were tracking elk movements. Large herds were traveling north, as I'm sure some of you were aware, which is considerably outside of their normal migration patterns during this part of the year. While investigating their paths, we discovered entire flocks of crows and other carrion birds chasing the elk, deer, and other herd animals that were seemingly running scared. We found the source.

"Multiple companies of warriors, all clad in dark plate and bloodstained mail. They were carrying banners, declaring their worship of the Warlord of the Damned. War has come to the Greenbelt. Even worse, the kind of war. We are woefully unprepared for this. The regulars are few in number, and too spread apart to face this quick enough. The Swordlord debacle last winter didn't help things, and we have yet to fully recover in regards to the Green Grove's standing army. Lefan is on his way to Lord Huma, dispatched with what little intelligence we were able to ascertain during the short time we were able to observe the invaders. While observing, I estimated the passing of at least eight-hundred. With how swiftly and surely they were traveling, and how many more there where that I hadn't counted, I doubt they were the only group. Therefore, it is safe to assume that there are at least five or six thousand warriors making their way towards the capital. Conservatively, I would say that we would be fortunate if they made it there within much more than a fortnight, three weeks tops. On top of that, it is safe to assume that they will be dispatching companies to the smaller villages and towns on the way. An army that big will need to eat, and that s the best way to protect their flanks and rear. That s what I d do, after all.

"We are too few to face them in open combat. But we don't fight like that. All of you are to go forth. Rally the militias, the scouts, the huntsman. Non combatants are to go to ground, seek safety behind sturdy walls. We must do everything we can to slow them down, to harass them, to bleed them of men and resources. Target their leaders, their healers, their holymen if need be. Give Lord Huma time to organize a reliable defense. Questions? No? Let's get to it." As one they nodded, and departed without a word or whisper. Even Tanao, the most lighthearted of the group, grimly mounted his horse and clicked his tongue, urging it into the forest. Only Jace lingered, but for a moment, her eyes on mine. She gave me a beautiful but sad smile, that managed to convey everything and nothing, and pulled up the hood of her cloak, vanishing into the brush.

I rarely stood on ceremony, my rangers even less. To be honest, if I had it my way, they would never had been given the title of my Battlecrows. That was an affectation brought on by the more...ceremonial of the council of leaders. They had been convinced that my loose, largely unregulated force of rangers, huntsmen, and scouts required a name befitting their function, and Jace, the first, suggested it. Intended initially as an in joke and challenge to a group of marauders that plagued the early inception of our kingdom, the name stuck. As did the name of our unofficial headquarters, this small clearing where we gather in only the most dire times and special of occasions. Tanao once referred to it as the 'Roost from which the Snowcrow and his flock fly from when battle called' in a song he sang in the center square of Green Grove Point. The name, and mine, garnered an uncomfortable amount of attention that day, much to the amusement of my crows.

This clearing had much significance, which I reflected on. This was where I give every one of my Battlecrows their cloaks upon initiation, for the only way to first find the clearing, hidden by ancient blessings of the forest spirits, is to be brought in by the glade's sentinel. This was where Torfvin first fell, ambushed by ogres when he received his cloak, and was brought back by the only true miracle I have witnessed in my lifetime. It was where Heikal and Runaan first made their vows, witnessed by Tanao, Jace, and myself in a short ceremony. It was where Jace and I, the first time we met, were forced to put to rest the glade's prior guardian, a twisted and corrupted fae spirit that had dominated Roland's will and spirit for decades, turning him into a terrible beast that plagued the countryside. It was where, several years later, Jace and I confessed the love we had for each other, and discovered at the time the extent of the curse laid upon her while defeating the spirit and saving Roland, and why we could never be together. This glade meant a lot to me, and I had the sickening feeling that this may be the last time I would see it.

I took one final look around, kicked the coals of the fire apart, and whistled for Gyrfaalk. We had work to do. He flew with me as I began to run once more. East. Towards certain victory, or death.

* * *

As I ran, I scanned the forest before me, in far greater detail than I normally would. My keen eye picked out plants, trees, and small creatures that scattered before my path. There. I stopped. Hidden in the shadows of a dead willow tree, growing in the gouge in the earth left by its falling. A small, innocuous cluster of mushrooms. Red striped caps, with black gills underneath. Ingested, they would force hallucinations upon the victim, causing imbalance, nausea, and vomiting. In extreme cases, it turns their bowels to water. Applied to a wound, it would bleed far longer, and far more heavily, and runs the risk of poisoning the blood. I stopped to pick the lot, stripping the patch of all the fully grown, mature caps. Into one pouch they went, stems, caps and all.

A few minutes later I found a hemlock in healthy growth. The leaves and bark causes swelling and inflammation in the mouth, throat, and stomach. Lethal doses: suffocation. An unpleasant way to go. I spent thirty minutes cutting entire branches free. A gift from an envoy from a swordlord from the north, an enchanted quiver, it possessed far more space within it than it appeared. I could spend a day at war drawing arrows from it, and not run dry. It easily accepted my offerings, with no sign of losing space.

Turning slightly from my path, heading slightly south, I ran for a short while. Right where I remembered it to be, lay a large patch of belladonna. The small, glossy back berries growing on the stems were a deadly poison, a favoured tool in any assassin's kit. Near it, slender, small stemmed plants were my next harvest. Sassone leaves, if coming into contact with an open wound, poisons the blood and flesh. It weakens the body, causes immense pain. Those weak in body it would outright slay. I took all that I saw. I quashed the ill feeling that rose in my mind while trying to remember the location of my next target. Poisons were a coward's weapon, one that I rarely have found purpose for in my arsenal, and one that would be swift to turn on the user should he not exercise the proper caution. But in the upcoming trials, I would need every blade I could muster. And my forests could forge many a weapon within it.

Wolfsbane and a small harvest of Malysse root were growing nearby. I planted the wolfsbane many summers ago, after a curse of lycanthropy plagued the region one winter. Wolfsbane is a cure and a poison, capable of burning away the curse of lycanthropy in a body, but at the risk of slaying those weak in body. The malysse root growing intertwined with the flowered plant was a fortunate coincidence, but one I planned fully on taking advantage of. The sun was setting by the time I had dug up all that I could. My mind raced, trying to think of what else of the forest's bounty I could use against its invaders. There was little time, and far less at my disposal than I wished for. I ran on.

Just as the final rays of sunlight began to disappear over the horizon, I saw something as I ran by a different hemlock. I stopped, and ran back. There, looped on one of the lower branches, amidst ones that had been hacked off within the last day. A length of hair, shimmering like a stream of warm, dark honey. I smiled to myself, carefully removing it from the branch, and brought it to my face. The scent of wildflowers, and more faint, of cooked fish and smoked cheese. Jace. She had a similar idea, and knew I would share the same. With love and reverence, I wound it around my bow, ignoring the slight, tingling pain that developed in my hand as I did so. So long as I had strength left in my arm, she would fight with me.

I continued on. Well into the night, I emerged from the edges of the forest. It was a clear night, with not a cloud in the skies. To the north and east, I saw a flicker of light on the very edge of the horizon. A fire, and a large one at that, for it to be so visible from afar. To go to it would be to waste time, valuable time, and would only confirm what I already knew. I was needed farther north, where villages and towns could yet still be saved from the encroaching tide of death lay.

I hesitated for only a moment. I ran to the north and east. A few hours before dawn, I encountered a small stream. Taking a moment, I drank from it. Looking about, I found a small indent near the edge of the stream, against a length of wood, an old tree, that looked to have washed ashore some time ago. Ensuring that none were near, I layed against it, wrapped my cloak around myself, and closed my eyes.

Within moments, it felt like, the early sun's rays were in my face, and I awoke with a start. Silencing a groan, I sat up. My muscles were still tight and aching from the the last few days, and I felt the cold in my bones. An active life and blessings of health resulted in a vigor of that of a man half my age, but the river of time flowed for all, and the weight of years still bore down on me like a lodestone. I drank from the stream once more, stretched, and continued on.

By early afternoon, I made it to the village. It was as I suspected. Bodies were strewn throughout. I saw small groups outside the village walls first, those that tried to flee. Most had arrows in their backs, others heads hacked off or other mortal wounds. My bile rose. Many did not die quickly. With no small amount of disgust, I began removing arrows from their bodies, taking what I could. The shafts black, fletching tattered, the heads barbed and deadly. A faint, unique scent wafted from them, one that I recognized, one I've only encountered once before. Garim oil. Deadly in even the slightest of scratches, it caused a horrible fever, feeling as though the blood itself is set aflame. The man I saw afflicted by the fever did not survive, and suffered for several weeks before passing. Using the enemy's weapons against them would be fitting.

I finished my search of the town. There were no survivors. They were attacked without warning, by a force that horribly outnumbered the unprepared defenders, and with the intent of complete annihilation. Many were slain in their beds, in the arms of loved ones, or cowering in corners. My hatred for the invaders only deepened. Some small bit of fortune found me however. While saying a prayer for the fallen, and with the regret that I could not properly bury them, a horse wandered to me. He was smoke streaked, had small patches where his fur burned away, and was covered in small scratches and streaks of blood. I could only assume that he was in the stables and was freed in the chaos of the night raid.

I coaxed him toward me, the beast still skittish after the night's events. It took a little while, but eventually, I was stroking his mane, whispering quiet words of encouragement as he ate a small apple from my hand. He nuzzled me for a moment, and allowed me to mount him. Over the years, I had noticed I had developed a sort of connection with animals that bordered on the spiritual. I could get an idea on their attitude, their temperament, even the barest hints of feelings, and this bond allowed me to commune with this horse.

Still whispering to him, I gently nudged his chestnut flanks and set him trotting. Leaning down, I patted his neck and said, "I name you Strider. You will be my legs this day, and I your fangs this night. Together we will visit destruction upon our enemies." The horse seemed open to this plan, and set off at a brisk pace. The day would bring us one step closer to war, one step closer to vengeance. Every death that the agents of Rovagug the Destroyer visited upon the people I had sworn to protect, I would visit upon them tenfold.

With Strider's aid, I made it much closer to my goal. Night fell, and the moon began to rise, when I saw the fire once more. This time however, sounds of battle could faintly be still heard upon the night wind. I pushed Strider on, and within the hour, I found my prey. Dismounting, I bade silence from the horse, and he gratefully sank to the earth to rest. The pace we set was, while not brutal, was still taxing to him, and after the previous night's troubles, Strider was content to rest and recover while I went on ahead. Gathering my cloak around me, I traced my way through the darkness. Before too long, I was within true eyesight of the small town, Pellum.

It, like many others in the region, had only existed for a bare couple decades, but was prosperous, leading to a growing population. Close on to seven hundred souls, it was considered the main population center of the area, with several small villages and many farmsteads within two days travel of it . A sturdy wall, made of stone and standing almost ten feet high circled the main portion of the town center, with the gathering hall, foodstores, smithy, and several other buildings vital to the day to day functions of a frontier town residing within it. It was able to hold every local, and any forces the local governor could send, comfortably, and provided excellent defense against predators and roving threats. More than once has a group of bandits attempted to force one of our populations to capitulate to their demands, only to be met with a fortified defense resembling a military encampment more than civilian center and the men with the training and equipment to send them running. This was something I had pushed for since the very earliest days of our kingdom's inception, and I was exceedingly glad for it.

The band of invaders I had tracked, numbering at least several hundred, had just breached the wall, and were attempting to take the breach when I arrived. Evidently, the militia were providing more resistance than they expected. Taking a moment to read the field, I saw my first target. What appeared to be an enemy spellcaster, dressed in dark robes bearing symbols of an arcane nature that hurt my eye to look upon, was raising his arms and shouting, evidently trying to urge his minions to greater acts of violence. I stuck to the shadows, one patch of darkness in other patches, and creeped up to him.

While the rest of his men were trying to force their way into the breach he stood back, well outside of range of any bows the defenders would have, looking on. I drew my knife and struck without warning, clapping my hand to his mouth and stabbing into his neck. I pierced both arteries and his windpipe, and with a violent push, tore my knife from his throat, pushing it forward and ensuring the only thing keeping his head attached to his shoulders was his spine. It was a method that Tanao taught me, and one the disparate tribes of his people had perfected over the centuries that they fought with one another. He died silently, and I let his body slide to the ground.

I was already moving before his body fully touched the ground, his lifeblood flowing free. My next target was a man wielding a heavy warbow. He was a part of a small group of archers, holding back now that the main body of troops were assaulting the village. He also fell to my knife, a swift downward jab between his neck and left collarbone, puncturing his lung and heart. I killed most of the group before the rest realized I was amongst them. The last was barely able to get a scream off before I tackled him to the ground, my blade stealing his voice, then his life. No sooner was he silenced before I was on the move again. Despite the archer's aborted warning, the rest of the warriors were unaware of my presence. I silenced one more group of archers at close range, and then it was on to the assault force.

Collecting an armful of enemy quivers, I set them at my feet, drew my bow, and began loosing arrows at the rear of their force. I set a brutal rate, pulling, drawing, and loosing an arrow with deadly aim every several seconds. I barely bothered to aim however. Between the power of my longbow, the sheer density of the body of troops, and the poison that tipped my claimed arrows, it was easy to kill a target with a single shot.

It took thirteen deaths before they realized they were under fire, and that was only because the fletching came loose on my fourteenth and the shot went wide, turning an efficient kill into a hit that glanced off his pauldron. I swiftly felled him with a second arrow, the shaft sinking into the side of his head as he turned to grab his companion, seemingly planning on screaming an alert. He failed to tell his ally before my arrow found him, but the damage was done as sure as any warning. I continued to loose black arrow after black arrow, upping my pace at the cost of my accuracy suffering slightly.

It took another twenty three after that before the enemy wisened up enough to bring shield bearers to the rear, forming a wall against the direction I was attacking from, and preventing me from collecting any more immediate kills. In response, I gathered up the arrows I hadn't yet used, and moved positions. All the while, the body of troops were still trying, and failing to, force their way into the village.

It took another several minutes before I was able to find a secure spot once more. It was almost parallel to the village's wall and while the relative density of soldiers was decreased, the style of their armor, heavily banded on the front and rear, with the securing straps on the sides, ensured I had a much better angle on their vitals. In the time between me moving and finding the better location, the invaders seemed to have increased the ferocity of their assault. Now instead of a confidence born of attacking a lightly defended farming community, they were attempting to push through to escape the unknown force stinging the rear of their body. I began shooting once more, and they were much quicker to respond. Barely half a dozen had fallen before they started to react, and only a few more fell before a shield wall protected the flank once more.

I had just started to move again, intent on harassing them until they fled, were defeated, or I fell, when I spotted their commander. Each of the warriors, wearing heavy, banded armor and a simple, if durable helmet, seemed rather plainly outfitted, perfect for outfitting large numbers of warriors quickly. But near the center of their mob, was someone I could only assume was a commander of some sort. His armor was of much better quality, looked to have lines of silver inlays criss crossing across it, and his helmet bore what appeared to be a crest made of the hair of a horse's mane or tail. I decided that he would be my next target. With him gone, the resistance should crumble. In the back of my mind, I wondered if he thought the same of me. No matter.

I crept forward, still hidden by the darkness, my cloak turning me into a silent, formless wraith unnoticed by all. With calm assuredness, I drew a specific arrow from my quiver. Glossy black, with glittering red inlays marking out arcane runes and sigils, and a heavy, broad head, this arrow, and others like it in my possession, were created specifically to slay powerfully protected men and beasts, where a normal arrow would glance harmlessly away. The cost that went into making it is comparable to the equivalent of a town's, like the one currently under siege, budget for an entire cycle of seasons. I possessed only a handful of such arrows, and only put them to string in the most needed moments.

I set it to my bowstring, pulling back to give the weapon some tension. The thick, reinforced arms of the bow gave the barest bit of sound as it creaked and flexed slightly, still creeping forward. In my right hand was clutched a few more arrows, ready to set and let fly once I loosed the one currently nocked. Taking a pair of deep breathes to steady my body, I stood upright, shrugged the edges of my cloak free of obstruction, pulled back fully, and released. In the time it took for the arrow to fly to its target, I had set to string and released the others I held ready, and stepped further into the shadows to observe my handiwork.

It flew straight and true, connecting with the leader just as he was pushing his men forward, laying about with a small wooden baton, commanding them to clear the breach. The sheer force of the hit forced him off his feet, knocking him into the man next to him. Any defensive enchantments that were around his person were completely ignored, the enchanted head of the arrow performing its duty, and the arrow killed him outright. I continued to watch, however, as the true purpose of the magically crafted arrow finally did what it was created to do. With what I knew was a quiet hiss to declare its intention, the arrow, the leader's body, and all the men around him within two paces were incinerated by a massive blast. The explosion knocked down all the survivors around them, the unfortunate few that were close enough to the blast but far enough away to survive screaming as the sections of their bodies closest to it burned away.

The sudden devastation looked to be enough. The determination to fight that the invaders had was wavering all throughout the battle, encountering a dogged resistance and losing men by a flanking was enough to sow doubt in their minds, but the morale that sustained them vanished when their leader died in the fiery explosion. They ran, first in ones and twos at the rear of the group, then in larger clumps, before the entire raiding force melted away, still losing men. I continued to send arrow after arrow after them at a steady pace, dropping or wounding a man every few seconds, until they fully moved out range of myself, and the town.

I whistled for Strider, and the horse obediently followed me to the hole in the wall, blasted open most likely by the enemy's spellcaster. In the back of my mind, I wondered how many battlemages had accompanied the force of invaders, and how much killing this one had hurt them. The sight that greeted me, looking in through the wall, brought a small smile to my face.

Every man of fighting age the town possessed met me. Along with, I noted, many of those well past their prime, a few of the elders and greybeards, and no small amount of the womenfolk. All had something to fight with, whether the arms and armament that every armory was required to carry for their militias, bows used by hunters, slings that boys would hunt birds and small animals with, and I even saw more than one knife hastily tied to a broomhandle, serving as makeshift spears. One of the elders, clad in a breastplate strapped over his nightgown, a poorly fitting helmet worn to protect his head and the few wispy strands of grey on it, and bearing a militia issue shield and shortsword, walked forward to greet me.

"Greetings, Lord Snowcrow." The man said, sheathing his sword and attempting to drop to his knee. I waved him up. He was far too old for me to be expecting that of him. Instead, I extended my hand, and he clasped wrists with me willingly, a grim smile decorating his face.

"Elder Warner. I am glad you are alive. And that your people repelled them." He nodded, sadly.

"I thank you sire. I only wish that more of my people could be with us. A man from Glima, from the south, came to us during the day. He was injured, astride a horse that expired mere feet from the gate. He was raving about an attack, and that everyone from Glima had been killed. So I did what I thought was best. Sent runners to the other neighboring towns and holds, tried to pack up the women and non combatants, and prayed. We got the bulk of the women and children out, sent them north to Green Grove point, and were preparing everything else when they came. Thankfully, we were prepared enough to turn a slaughter into an actual fight.

"We were holding out for a couple hours, it looked like they were mostly waiting for something, or just trying to let attrition and fatigue take us, and I had hope that help would come in time. Then, well, something broke down the wall. Lost a few men when that portion of it went down, lost even more when we tried to plug the breach. Thought it was over for us, then you showed up." His eyes took on a hopeful glimmer as he looked around, almost like he was expecting something else to happen.

"Where are the rest of your men, lord?"

I frowned at that. "I am by myself. My men are out and away, giving warning to those they can, and harassing the enemy as they do so, as they have for the last day or so." Elder Warner looked at me once more, as if in a new light. Then the moment passed, as if he just remembered about his people.

"No matter. Again, I thank you for your assistance, lord. But we have wounded that I must attend to, and preparations to make still, if we are to make to it to Green Grove." He bowed his head slightly, and I nodded back, and that was the end of the discussion.

I helped as I could. Moved bodies away from the gate and broken wall, organized the wounded, and helped load the town's wagons. By the time the sun's first rays were beginning the reach over the horizon, the survivors of Pillum had buried their dead, saw to the wounded, and were ready to move north. My body ached with fatigue, and the tension in my neck from the last few days had spread to my shoulders and back. Wearily, I moved to mount Strider, dimly aware that I had never saddled him.

I yawned, trying to force my thoughts in order. There were almost a dozen small villages, farmsteads, and towns between here and the capital. Warner was smart, spent close to a decade commanding troops before moving his family down south to the Emerald Expanse. Spent another several years serving in the kingdom s army, plus a few more in the capital s civic forces, before finally retiring to give his old bones a chance to rest. Chances were, most every community around here were already alerted. Between the Crows, and Warner s own runners, odds were favorable that everyone able to already evacuate or prepare was doing so, heading to anywhere that had a big enough wall to put between them and the invaders.

I had done my duty. The people had been alerted, militias would be mobilizing, and before the day was out, Huma would be undoubtedly be sending for me for my full report. As benevolent and intelligent a leader as he was, Huma was rather slow to act, and preferred to have as much information as possible before he did so. That caution can be useful, like when last year, he advised careful consideration of all possible outcomes of the civil war that almost destroyed the Swordlands. But on the other hand, I was confident that he d attempt to parley with the invaders. Try to sue for peace, find a resolution to this conflict that would be beneficial to both parties. He would hesitate before fully committing to the path of war, and such hesitation, even for a moment, would destroy us. Any time wasted on deliberating and discussion, pouring over every minute detail a full report would provide, before finally coming to a proper decision, would be disastrous.

Instead, he would have to rely on the hurried notes I jotted down and Lefan was now hurrying to deliver. He would be urged by General Kestan, my recommendations, and the approval of the other current council leaders, to declare a war footing. And if I could get to the river, I would have the chance to reinforce that decision. That would give him time to gather military arm of our kingdom s defenses, muster the few spellcasters we had on our payroll, and organize the healers, divine and mundane, to begin stockpiling supplies. As I stifled another yawn, I remembered the events from the night before.

The body of the mage whose throat I cut out was right where it fell. A few crows were picking at it and a few other corpses, with many more circling overhead, waiting for us to leave before they would descend. With cries of protest, the scavengers took flight as I approached, taking up their macabre dance in the morning sky. Ignoring the blood and more unsavory sights, I quickly patted the body down, going through it s pockets and pouches, emptying them out as I did so.

I found what I was looking for a few moments later. A thick tome bound in a strange, pale leather I couldn't quite place, with silver fastenings and iron corner caps, it had a myriad of arcane marks and sigils carved into the cover and spine. Flipping it open, its pages revealed lines of archaic, spidery writing in a language I was unfamiliar with. Merely looking at the writing hurt my eyes, and suddenly the metallic scent of fresh blood filled the air. Abruptly, I realized my nose was bleeding, and I quickly snapped the tome shut, tucking it away into my pack. I scooped up the rest of what looked valuable or useful, including a handful of foreign coins made of iron and a small, well organized, many pocketed satchel containing numerous bits and pieces, a pouch that I could only assume contained all the various components needed to cast the spells the tome contained.

The scholars and wizards we had on retainer would be able to make better sense of my findings, with enough time. I had long ago come to terms that the powers of the arcane would be forever beyond my grasp or understanding, much at the irritation of the several instructors Huma had purchased over the years to increase my usefulness in the role of Marshal. I had been fortunate to pick up a trick here or there that had proven useful, but my true strengths lay within the powers granted to me from the lands within my domain. The trees and soil and creatures within the Emerald Expanse were what I drew my power from, and that was enough for me.

Stifling a groan, I stood up and stretched, feeling the muscles in my back and shoulders pop and clench with the motions. Behind me, I could hear Elder Warner approach. He paused a moment before clearing his throat.

Lord. Our people are preparing to leave. Will you be accompanying us? I turned my gaze north. Already, on the horizon I could see dark clouds wheeling in the sky. Carrion birds were gathering once more, preparing in great numbers for a mighty feast.

Yes. We will make all speed to the capital. I turned to follow, idly remembering the first time I had seen what would later go on to become the capital for our kingdom. Decades past, before the trials we suffered, the people we lost.

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**A/N: ****This is my first major attempt at writing in gods know how long, so feel free to make suggestions for editing, grammar, or anything else that catches your eye. Beyond that, to all three potential readers who may or may not look forward to more of this, I only ask for patience, and to not get your hopes up in the even that I scrap this like most of my other attempts.**


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